


Hello Darling

by Domoda



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Klaus Hargreeves, Canonical Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Sibling Vanya Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jewish David "Dave" Katz, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domoda/pseuds/Domoda
Summary: Vanya Hargreeves doesn't cause the apocalypse. A life-time on power dampeners has left her ability weak and feeble and besides, with therapy and a good circle of friends, she's been able to work through her emotions in a healthy way.Harold Jenkins, the would-be "Leonard Peabody", dies in prison due to complications of pneumonia. His funeral is sparsely attended.🌹Klaus Hargreeves brings Dave back to 2019 to seek medical attention.This causes the apocalypse.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Klaus Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz, The Hargreeves Family
Comments: 43
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> concrit always appreciated. Especially for this fic. I wanted Dave to be explicitly Jewish, but I myself am not Jewish, so any feedback on that is very much appreciated. 
> 
> 🌼  
> 🌼  
> 🌼

1.

Klaus landed in 2019 and his knees buckled.

His body felt raw and exhausted, but he managed to lurch backwards and keep his balance. The suitcase was hanging from his mouth, the tacky taste of the leather handle filling his mouth and nose. It was making him drool.

The passengers on the bus all watched him warily. A woman opposite him watched the blood track down Klaus’ exposed calves. His short hair was already matted black with drying mud and viscera. The white of his eyes flashed under the thick layer of grime over his face.

David was a limp weight in his arms. He struggled to his feet and used his elbow to slam the bus’s stop signal. After about fifteen presses, the bus ground to a halt. Klaus burst from the double doors and hit the pavement.

Klaus had not eaten in two days and he had an injury of his own—a slice from a bayonet under his right knee. His vision was blurry. It felt like his mind had been pared down to impulses, all of him sharpened to a point.

As he ran, his legs shook worryingly. David’s bloody head bounced in the crook of his arm. He forced himself not to sprint across the road, and he waited for the lights to change while his hands shook. Cars passed so close they roared in his ears like a crashing tide. The city hospital loomed across the road, every light on in the building, a shining lighthouse in the gloom of the evening.

Klaus muttered to himself, around the handle in his mouth. His throat burned.

David said nothing.

When the lights changed, Klaus launched himself across the crosswalk. He had a light-headed, dizzy feeling and his shoulder twinged painfully. He pushed hard, drawing on the last on his will, grinding his teeth on suitcase handle.

Klaus reached the ER and kicked the automatic doors until they had opened enough for him to dart through. He stumbled to a stop, dripping scarlet on the pristine blue-plastic floor.

“Excuse me sir?” A nurse touched Klaus’ shoulder.

Klaus turned towards her and she flinched away. Belatedly, he realised he must smell awful, and look worse. He spat out the handle and the suitcase dropped to the floor. With his elbow, he lifted David’s head up. The man’s eyes flickered under his eyelids.

“I need a doctor,” Klaus croaked. “Now.”

*

After David was pulled away from him, Klaus felt oddly unmoored. He had to sit down. He took the suitcase and held it between his feet, a shiver starting up in his ribs. He felt like vomiting.

Klaus unzipped his jacket and peeled it off as delicately as he could. The dried blood tugged painfully on his skin. He rubbed his face, and felt the unpleasant, sticky muck he usually felt. His hair was oily. There was the familiar tinkling of his dog-tags, which caught in his jacket zip. He pulled them free with a sharp tug and dumped his jacket on the chair.

He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and kicked the suitcase towards the welcome desk, before hobbling after it. Klaus leaned heavily on the desk.

“I-I,” Klaus swallowed dryly, “I need to fill out insurance for him. I have a policy from my dad…” Klaus rubbed his knuckles over his tired eyes. “I can mark him down as my plus-one or whatever.”

“Sir,” The nurse watched him with wide eyes. “You’re injured. You should sit down.”

“Stabbed, I know,” Klaus pulled a form towards him. His fingers left black marks on the white paper, and he shifted forwards to lean more heavily on the counter. “It’s not that bad. Maybe four stitches.”

“It looks bad,” The nurse pulled the form away, “You should see a doctor. We can fill in the forms later.”

Klaus followed her gaze to the spreading wet stain that blackened his wifebeater. He touched it and found numb, torn skin. It was a sign of just how much blood he’d lost that his first instinct was to giggle.

“ _And_ shot, apparently,” Klaus grinned.

*

Klaus was sewn back together and briefly sedated while they sorted his gunshot wound out. He was lucky to have escaped without even a broken rib, but he still sported a thick padding of painful purple bruises.

He sat on the hospital bed, a thrum of anxiety moving through him. It was painful to lift his arms over his head so pulling his sleeveless shirt was difficult. His dog-tags bounced against his collarbone. The shirt had been washed, but the blood stain was still there, and the whole shirt had taken on a crusty grey look. He pushed his feet into the thin hospital slippers and padded out of the room.

After a brief conversation with the nurse, Klaus headed for David’s hospital room. The big black briefcase bounced against his thigh as he walked.

David was swaddled in white blankets, an oxygen mask clouding and clearing over his mouth and nose. His dark eyes opened when Klaus appeared, and crinkled at the corners with a tired smile. His hands shifted on the covers.

“Hey there, Soldier,” Klaus purred. The warm feeling rising in his chest was almost painful.

David gave a little, three-fingered wave.

Klaus pushed off the doorframe and settled down on David’s bedside table. He felt exhausted. With a soft sight, he leaned his elbows on the side of the mattress and flopped his chin down on David’s chest, like a big sleepy dog.

David laughed, and his laughing buffeted Klaus’ chin. He lifted the mask off his face a little, “You look terrible.”

Klaus grinned, “You’re one to talk.”

“Well,” David frowned slightly. “I… really thought I’d—you know. Bought the farm.”

“I would never allow it,” Klaus said.

“True enough.”

His eyes slid shut. Klaus watched him closely, like he expected Dave to fade out of existence. His nurse had said David might be up and walking in three weeks with a lot of rest and fluids. Klaus had almost kissed the nurse.

“You should ask the sarge in charge if you can move your cot in here,” David said, drawing in a heavy breath.

Klaus peered at him. “No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” David peeled his eyes open. He frowned at the blank walls, the steadily chirping machines. “This is the emptiest infirmary I’ve ever been to. Where are we? Da Nang?”

“Back home,” Klaus murmured.

“Back…” David let his mask snap back to his face and attempted to push himself upwards. His face twinged and he flopped back down. He asked weakly, “America?”

Klaus nodded. He sighed and sat up, pulling his dog-tags from around his neck. “Here. I don’t need them anymore.”

“You’ve been discharged?” David asked, picking the chain up. The metal squares clinked together.

“Something like that,” Klaus said.

David turned over the dog-tags carefully. “Four Hargreeves. I always thought you were joking about that.”

“I wasn’t,” Klaus lifted his left arm and pulled his hospital bracelet straight so David could read it.

“Blood type O,” David read.

“Yeah, well,” Klaus quirked an eyebrow. “I always had to be special, didn’t I?”

David smiled gently and let the dog-tag’s chain pool in a glinting pile over his own. He breathed deeply.

“I’ve got to head out,” Klaus rubbed his chin. “My family are apparently having a meeting. It will be good to catch up with them.” He stood up. “I’ll ask about moving the beds.”

David nodded.

Just as Klaus was closing the door, David called out, “Wait, Kay…”

Klaus paused, looking back at him.

“Thanks for saving my ass out there.” David scratched the back of his neck, a light flush rising beneath his washed-out complexion. “I mean it.”

“Well,” Klaus stepped in the hallway, “It is such a nice ass, after all.” He closed the door on a vision of David Katz laughing, that sheepish, flushed country-boy shyness that looked so good on him.

*

Klaus hid the briefcase in a third storeroom inside an air-vent, twisting the nails shut with his fingers.

*

In his bedroom, Klaus lost the distinctive veteran clothing and dressed instead in a faded band shirt and skinny jeans. It had been so long since he had worn tight-fitting clothing that he had almost forgot how snug and comfortable they were.

His hair was freshly washed and soft, the curls dripping onto his shoulders as he turned his head. It was coming up on three days since he’d last eaten, and his body bore marks of the intermittent diet and terrible conditions he had spent the last ten months in. His bones hurt.

The sunlight streamed through the single-pane windows of the mansion. He padded across the floor barefoot.

The door to Ben’s room was open, and Klaus heard the sound of the hoover running. He frowned.

Ben.

He hadn’t seen Ben in days. He had never gone a moment without knowing where his brother was—until now, it seemed. It was a bizarre realisation, like remembering he had left an arm at home.

Klaus leaned on the wall with his good arm and thought of Ben, Ben, Ben, Be—

“Took you long enough!” Ben exclaimed. Klaus opened his eyes and was greeted by the familiar sight of Ben Hargreeves leaning against the opposite wall. His expression was sour.

“Ah,” Klaus straightened up, “Miss me?”

“Miss you! Asshole.” Ben glared. “Since when could you send me away, anyway? I thought you couldn’t control your powers.”

Klaus frowned.

It had been in the middle of open conflict, with guns rattling punishingly loud. Mud had filled Klaus’ mouth and he was trying to aim a heavy gun, fire but not hit anybody. Shells exploded like a baseball connecting with his temple.

And—when Ben had tried to speak… Klaus had made a motion. A gentle one, his fingers coming together in a pinch-like form, like plucking a floating feather out of the air. And Ben had vanished.

“I didn’t think so either,” Klaus muttered. He padded past him and headed towards the stairs. It was difficult to hide his limp, but he managed to pull it off as an exaggerated swagger.

“You look like shit by the way,” Ben announced.

“Thanks,” Klaus said.

“I’m serious,” Ben said. “And why are we back in 2019? When did you leave—”

“Shh!” Klaus hissed as he strolled into the living room.

What remained of their family was collected in an awkward gathering around the sofas. Allison on a stool with her back to the bar, Luther sat next to the fireplace with Diego opposite him. Vanya stood, still in her coat, on the edge of the group, as out of place as always.

Five looked up as he walked in. There was a thick, beaten-up hardback in his hands. “Good, you finally made it.”

“Great,” Diego gritted out. “Now that he turned up, can you tell us what you dragged us here for?”

“Sure.” Five straightened up. “I already told you that I came back from the future. Well, I came back to prevent the apocalypse. And from my calculations, it happens less than a week from now.”

There was a long pause.

“The apocalypse?” Vanya echoed, dully. “Like, the real one? All life on earth snuffed out, mushroom clouds, that sort of thing?”

“Yes, pretty much,” Five nodded.

“Any survivors?” Luther asked.

“None except me,” Five said. “And I skipped it, so I don’t count.”

“That’s insane,” Allison said. “What causes it?”

“No idea,” Five raised his eyebrows and slipped off the arm of the couch he had been sitting on and tapped his fingers on the edge of the battered hardback. “But I think this book has something to do with it. I found it in the ruins of the academy.”

“What is that?” Vanya folded her arms and leaned forward. “Dune? Does that have something to do with the apocalypse?”

Klaus’ head jerked upwards, and a cold feeling filled him.

“Not the book itself,” Five said. “Someone wrote a note in the front which I think is significant.”

Diego snatched the book from his hands and flipped it open. He scanned the page before he read it aloud: “ _To Davie baby. Hope you’ll enjoy this one. -Spaceman._ ”

There was a tightening in Klaus’ stomach, like he was about to puke. He tightened his fist until his nails dug painfully into his palm.

“So, what then?” Luther asked. “We find this… Davie-baby?”

“Yes, exactly,” Five said. “He’s got something to do with the apocalypse. I don’t know whether he causes it himself or if he…”

“Or she,” Vanya interjected.

“What?” Diego frowned at her.

“Davie could be girl,” Vanya said, weakly. She seemed to wilt when all the attention was on her.

“Short for what?” Luther asked, yanking the book from Diego. “Dave-etta?”

“I don’t know,” Vanya said. “I was just suggesting it…”

Klaus felt as though the floor had opened up under him. He was light-headed. Because, back at the hospital, there was a book on David Katz’s bedside table, the same edition with the exact same inscription, written by Klaus a few months ago by the light of an army lantern.

*

“What was all that?” Ben said as Klaus padded out of the academy. Klaus was still light-headed and a little dizzy, but to the others he must have only seemed hungover. He ran his hands over his face.

“What was what?” Klaus asked, dully.

“You started freaking out back there,” Ben said. “I could practically hear your heart-rate picking up.”

“I’m just in withdrawal,” Klaus said.

“Bullshit. You’ve been clean for a month now,” Ben said. “Longer, if you had me on mute for more time than I’m assuming. Why are we back in 2019? What happened to Dave? Look—you’re going to have to explain yourself sooner or later.”

“Actually,” Klaus glared at the pavement, “I don’t have to explain shit to you.”

A car roared past, splattering him with yesterday’s rain. Klaus glanced around the city street, watching the billboards bear down on him. From his family’s perspective, he had only been missing a few days at most, but for Klaus the city life was ancient history. He had been returned to the future, to the same dysfunctional, bickering family, the same cold city where nobody knew him, the same judgemental, dead brother. The same dully, gnawing cravings.

“That book,” Ben muttered. “It’s David’s, isn’t it? You bought it from military library and gave it to him—it’s that copy?”

Klaus stopped walking. He breathed in a lung-full of cold city air, heavy with the smell of rain. Pedestrians pushed past him, close enough to clip him with their shopping bags and folded umbrellas.

“Why are you asking, Ben?” Klaus said, without looking at him. “You know the answer. You were there.”

Ben gave out a pointless sigh. He walked until he was in front of Klaus, “You should tell them. You should tell them everything. They’re your family, Klaus, they want to—”

Klaus snuffed him out with a pinching motion.

Just like that, Klaus was alone on the busy street, buffeted this way and that, like a lone leaf on a stormy day. He ran a hand through his hair and walked on.

*

Klaus opened the hospital room door closely. His packet of fast food steamed gently, leaving his forearm damp and warm. David lifted his head when he saw him enter.

“Hey,” Klaus lifted the burger bag and it swung gently from his grip. “I brought you fuel.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” David said, coolly.

Klaus paused for almost a full second, the expression frozen on his face, before he recovered and closed the door behind him. He really was a terrible liar. It was only his reputation of being untrustworthy which cast enough doubt onto his reliability that allowed him to get away with the occasional white lie.

David wasn’t wearing the oxygen mask anymore, and despite how angry he looked, Klaus couldn’t help but appreciate how much colour had returned to the man’s cheeks. He looked a lot less like he was about to keel over.

“About what?” Klaus asked, innocently. “There are probably a lot of things—”

David held up a newspaper. He tapped the date.

“Ah,” Klaus said. “I had no idea they still printed those things.”

“Tell me this is some sort of—messed up prank, Klaus,” David said, desperately. “Tell me we’re not actually in the future. Tell me that nurse, those patients, that doctor—they’re all in on it too. It’s all some sort of hoax, tell me that, please.”

Klaus sat down at his bedside. He set the burger bag on top of the battered copy of Dune.

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” David said. “I don’t know what’s real. How can we be here? How can I be here?”

“We…” Klaus’ throat was dry. He swallowed. “I took us here. When you were injured, I brought you back to my time. Or—forward to my time, as it is.”

David stared at him.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Klaus said, weakly.

“Hard to believe is puttin’ it darn-lightly,” David grumbled. He buried his hands in his face. “By Jove… Klaus you aren’t lying to me.”

“I’m not,” Klaus insisted.

“I’m close to believing you, fool as I am,” David said into his hands. “I couldn’t handle it if you lied to me about this. I couldn’t.”

“I’m not,” Klaus touched his arm. “I’m not.”

David breathed through his hands, shakily. His shoulders shivered.

“I never lied to you,” Klaus said. “Well—not about the important stuff. I always told you I was from 2019.”

“Yeah, and we all called you Spaceman for trying to make us believe you,” David’s voice was tired. He took his hands away from his face.

Klaus smiled, “You didn’t believe me?”

“I sort-of did,” David said. “I don’t know why. You’re easy to believe.”

“You’re the only person in the world who thinks that,” Klaus grinned.

“That’s impossible,” David leaned back, his sheets crinkling. “Whenever you say anything, you’ve got this earnestness about you, especially if you turn your big dark eyes on them, they’re putty. It’s a struggle not to believe you even when what you’re saying is practically cracked.”

“Did you believe me about my powers?” Klaus asked.

David breathed out through his teeth, “I believed… I believe you had a large, divisive family, a weird upbringing, and a papa who never had any love for you. And, apparently, a vivid imagination.”

“You’re right about those things,” Klaus grinned.

After a moment, David seemed to lose his humour. His smile faltered and he went a little pale. “You should have asked.”

“What?” Klaus blinked.

“You shouldn’t have taken me here without asking,” David said.

“Are—are you insane?” Klaus scowled. “When was I supposed to ask? When you were bleeding out and barely conscious?”

“You want me to believe you weren’t planning to bring me here anyway?” David asked, sharply.

Klaus froze for a second—caught. His expression darkened, “You’re seriously mad at me for saving your life?”

“You took me away from the front,” David glared at him. “I was making a difference and you decided to—!”

“You didn’t make a difference!” Klaus yelled. “The war was bullshit! The—the soviets never invade, the entire war is a pointless, useless waste of life! Millions dead, over what, a pissing contest between two countries that fizzles out in the 90’s anyway?!”

“You don’t get to make that decision,” David said. “Maybe my America doesn’t feel real because the 60’s were ancient history to you, but I chose to sign up for a reason. I wanted to serve my country.”

Klaus gaped at him. He was beyond words. Sometimes David was just like that—so stubbornly and relentlessly _old-fashioned_ that it was dazzling. It felt like all of the breath had left his chest.

“You made me a deserter, Klaus,” David shook his head. “I guess you don’t understand what that means, but it means something to me.”

Klaus took a step back.

It felt like he’d been slapped in the face. He shook his head slightly and turned, heading for the door. His heart was heavy and painful, and his wounds felt especially sore.

“Wait, Klaus,” David called.

Klaus paused with his hand on the door handle. He glanced back.

“I am… grateful for what you did for me,” David said, measuredly. “I know it doesn’t sound like I am, but I am. I’m angry… but don’t take that as a sign to stay away. I’ll miss you, bad.”

Klaus grinned. “You’re too soft-hearted.”

“Don’t I know it,” David sighed in mock-exasperation.

Something tight in Klaus’ chest was unwinding, “Eat the burger before it gets cold. The food in this place is terrible.”

“It can’t be worse than military food,” David muttered. He had a point. Klaus flashed him a smile and closed the door behind him.

*

The Book Emporium wasn’t exactly overflowing with customers, but the narrow, cramped walkways and corridors meant that Klaus and Diego had to keep stepping awkwardly to one side or balancing on the skirting board to let other shoppers pass. The entire building had the distinctive, musty smell of old books.

Klaus’ injuries were starting to burn a little, and he sat down on a nearby chair to take the weight off his bad knee. His gunshot laceration prickled, and he wanted to lie down, but Diego would never allow it. It had been a struggle to find clothes in his wardrobe that hid the thick padding of bandages he couldn’t explain.

“Here we are,” The owner of the shop trundled back to them, holding what looked like a brick wrapped in thick tissue paper. He set it down on the small side table. “I had to check with my associate. It looks like the book you have is a third printing of the 1965 first edition. It’s fairly pricey; I’ve seen copies sold for something like six grand, but—”

“You’ve sold one?” Diego asked.

The owner frowned, “Not that I remember, but I’d have to check with the records. I sell a lot of books.”

Diego picked up the heavy copy of Dune, casting off the tissue paper. The book cover was a shifting green painting, with a streak of pale sand cutting through black-green rock. Klaus watched it closely. It was almost unsettling to see it again, like glancing at a face in the crowd and suddenly recognising it.

“Who else is selling it?” Klaus asked.

The owner squinted at him, like he had forgotten Klaus was there. Diego, too, looked startled. Klaus glanced between them, blankly.

“Well… I imagine just about every bookseller in the city is keeping an eye out for a book like this,” The owner said. “It’s a guaranteed sale.”

“Great,” Diego said, dryly. “Can I get a list of anyone you’ve sold this edition to? And anyone who might have been looking for this edition and anyone who might have already collected it? Just this first edition and third printing please, money is no object.”

The owner frowned, “Just this version?”

“We’re like…” Klaus raised his eyebrows. “ _Really_ eccentric billionaires.”

The owner nodded, “I’ll go get my records.”

“Thanks,” Diego said. The owner retreated back into the labyrinth of shelves, quickly trundling out of sight. Light glinted on the glass cases of ancient letters and hand-written manuscripts. Klaus scanned the rows of yellowing paperbacks and outdated magazines which were stuffed into the shelves which ran next to him.

“This will be such a bust,” Diego sighed. He flopped down next to Klaus.

“It’s the only lead we have,” Klaus said.

“I know,” Diego said. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

The music which fell from the overhead speakers changed from a crooning Beatles song to a jiving jazz track which made heavy use of a soundboard of a cat’s meow. Somewhere in the maze of books, an argument reached them.

“Does Five seem different to you?” Klaus asked.

“Probably,” Diego said. “We last saw him ten years ago, and it’s been even longer for him. People change.”

“What I’m saying is does he seem…” Klaus struggled for the right words. “Tougher? Angrier?”

“Well, he was a time assassin.”

“A time assassin?”

“It’s pretty much what it sounds like,” Diego said.

Klaus rubbed the stubble on his chin. There was a magazine open on the table in front of him, showing diagrams for sewing a patched dress. There was something comfortingly 60’s in the hairstyles and half-smiles of the female models.

“Hey,” Diego caught his shoulder and squeezed. “If you’re worried about whether he’ll be able to do what it takes to fix this mess, don’t be. He’s a little demon, he won’t show mercy. And even if he wasn’t, the rest of us are tough as nails.”

Klaus stared at him, mouth hanging open. He couldn’t think of anything to say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Media references:  
> They are watching the 1984 Dune movie in the first scene  
> Later they watch Big Eden (2000) 

2.

“That was…” David squinted. The credits rolled on the television screen.

“Right?” Klaus grinned his Cheshire-cat grin, “Can you believe David Lynch passed up directing Return of the Jedi to direct this?”

“Return of the who?”

“We’ll get to that,” Klaus said, stretching.

“This must be utterly incomprehensible to some who’s not read the book,” David rubbed his face.

“But we _have_ read the book,” Klaus said. “So, it’s like a movie just for us. Do you like it? Everyone else hates it.”

“It’s a Dune movie,” David said. “I’m duty-bound to approve of it—but I still like it. Although Mr…” He picked up the case and scanned the credits on the back, “McLachlan makes a very mature-looking fifteen-year-old.”

“Well Lynch was never going to cast anyone else, so that’s a given,” Klaus leaned over David’s bed and picked up the crusts of his sandwiches, popping them in his mouth.

“It has the same feeling as the book,” David admitted. “And the cast is all very spiffy. I liked the sets.”

“So it doesn’t matter that it’s boring?” Klaus asked, turning around to look at him.

“No,” David brushed a dark curl from Klaus’ face and tucked it behind his head, “Not really.”

*

“Oh, Klaus,” Luther greeted, and there was something in his tone that made Klaus turn on his heel and stalk away. “Hey! Slow down!”

Klaus broke into a half-jog down the stairs and turned the corner—almost running straight into his sister.

“Klaus, hey,” Allison threw up her hands like she was confronted with a fearful animal, “We need you to channel Dad.”

Klaus balked, “No way.”

“Hey! We’re all doing our part with our powers,” Luther said, “The least you could do is try.”

“I’ve been trying,” Klaus lied weakly. “He’s not coming out.”

“Try again then,” Luther ordered.

Klaus glared at him.

“Please, Klaus,” Allison said. “Five’s working on something in secret, but I don’t think he’ll make it in time. I think Dad knew about the apocalypse—I think this is what we’ve been training for, all this time.”

Klaus stared at her for a moment, before finally relenting. Even when she wasn’t using her powers, it was difficult to say no to her.

“Fine,” Klaus said. “But if this doesn’t work, I’m not trying again.”

“Klaus—” Luther growled.

“Thanks, Klaus,” Allison stepped in front of the big man smoothly. “I know you don’t like using your powers.”

Klaus allowed himself to be shepherded into the living room. Allison turned off the lights and Luther fumbled with putting the fire out—but it wasn’t necessary. As far as Klaus was aware, there was no helping him summon someone. He either could or he couldn’t. And he had the uncomfortable feeling that it might actually work this time.

“Think of your questions while I get ready,” Klaus muttered. “I can’t keep him longer than he wants to stay. You know how he gets when you waste his time.”

“He’s dead,” Allison said. “What else is he going to do?”

Klaus shrugged one shoulder, languidly.

Luther sat on the couch, waiting expectantly.

The gloom in the living room was almost palpable. Klaus was oddly aware of just how old the house was, how the walls leaned against each other, the stone old and foreign, the floorboards from trees dead for centuries. The paintings were sold and resold and resold until they ended up in ancient frames, millions of miles from the artist’s studio they had been painted in, hundreds of years ago.

Klaus’ eyes drifted shut and he drew on that cold flame that flickered in his chest. These past few days, it had come into a greater focus. The heavy melancholy that had dogged him his whole life was finally dissolving a little.

Reginald Hargreeves came into view, like a sound so faint that he felt it more than heard it. When Klaus reached for him, he slipped away, his spirit just on the edge of his senses.

Klaus gritted his teeth and flared the cold flame in his heart. For a very long time, he had kept the fire caged and chained, and tamping down on his fear, he loosened the chains, just a fraction. He let a flame lick the veil between life and death.

“Dad!” Luther exclaimed.

Klaus didn’t open his eyes, but with his heart open, he sensed his father. As always, his spiritual sense was filtered through his human brain, and he sensed him as a scent—a citrusy, spicy aroma, like freshly peeled limes, with a hint of dark rhubarb.

“You’re really here,” Allison said, breathlessly. “I mean, Klaus hasn’t summoned anyone in… years. This is insane…”

“I can’t believe it,” Luther said. “I-I have so much to ask you. What do you remember about your death?”

“How can we stop the apocalypse?” Allison asked. “What can we do?”

“What was on the moon?” Luther asked, desperately. “Why did you send me up there?”

Klaus peeled his eyes open.

Reginald Hargreeves stood opposite him. He sat on the couch, in perfect clarity, every thread of his burgundy suit in place and every fold in his clothing immaculate. Even his pocket chain and monocle reflected the natural light in just the right way. It was the most flawless channelling Klaus had ever done. He looked alive.

“Dad?” Luther took a step towards Reginald. His huge shadow fell over the old man, the light falling in just the right way. “Can you hear us?”

But Reginald wasn’t looking at him or Allison. In fact, his eyes hadn’t moved from Klaus. His dark eyes were fixed on his son, like he was waiting for Klaus to move.

“Are you going to say anything?” Klaus asked, dully. “It’s rude to ignore people.”

Reginald leaned forward and took off his hat, to reveal the same high, regal forehead and close-combed hair. Klaus hadn’t seen him much in the last few years, and it was almost disorientating to see how much the man had aged. In Klaus’ mind, Reginald was always dark haired and frightening, always tall and imposing—even though, if they stood up now, Klaus was probably taller than him.

“Number Four,” Reginald said, crisply. “You were always the most unnatural and evil of my children. I should have smothered you when you were a child.”

“Delightful,” Klaus snuffed him out and he vanished. He rolled forward to get his feet under him and stood up, stretching.

Luther and Allison took a step backwards, as if Klaus was contagious with something. Klaus felt something sink slightly in his chest, and he grimaced, running a hand through his curls.

“Oh my God,” Allison muttered.

“Why would he say that?” Luther asked, watching Klaus. “Do you think it’s got something to do with—”

“Luther!” Allison snapped.

Klaus looked back at him with dead eyes, “You tell me, number one. It’s not exactly the first time he’s said it.”

*

The television chattered in the background. They had drawn the curtains to keep the glare off the screen, but the subtitles were large enough to obscure most of the image anyway. It was fixed on mute by regulation. The nurse had just been in, and left evidence of her visit in the extra gauze and long surgical scissors which glinted on the bedside table, below the plastic flowers. A discarded magazine was stuffed on the windowsill.

“Try this,” Klaus poked David in the side. “It’s good, I promise.”

“It looks a little strange,” David said, measuredly, which was Dave-speak for _what the fuck is tha_ t.

“I promise it’s good,” Klaus whined, “Come on, try it. How bad could it possibly be? Don’t you trust me?”

“Uh,” David picked up one of the rounded pieces of food. He squeezed it gently. “This is rice?”

“You’ve had rice before,” Klaus said.

“On campaign,” David conceded. He raised it to his mouth.

“Eat it all at once,” Klaus advised. “If you nibbled it, it’ll fall apart.”

“Yes sir,” David said and put the piece in his mouth and chewed. At first, he wrinkled his nose, but then his expression cleared.

Klaus picked another piece of nigiri up and ate it in one bite. Around the rice he asked, “Verdict?”

“Pretty good,” David said, picking up another piece, “This is sushi?”

“Mmhmm,” Klaus dipped another piece in the little pot of soy sauce. “I know it’s weird, but it’ll grow on you.”

“This rice is strange,” David ate some more.

“It’s special glutenous rice,” Klaus said. “It doesn’t really hit American full-force until maybe the late 70’s, early 80’s, but nowadays it’s everywhere. I know you like the 60’s, but honestly the food was a little… David?”

David was fumbling for the remote. He nearly scattered the small plastic boxes of food Klaus had laid out for him. Klaus picked up the soy sauce to avoid it spilling. He watched as David retrieved the remote and hit pause hurriedly.

“What is it?” Klaus asked.

David pointed at the screen, where Pike and Henry were paused in the middle of a mellow country dance. “That’s two men dancing together.”

“It’s a gay movie,” Klaus said. “Keep watching, they do more than just dance.”

Warily, David pressed play. The two men turned and slowed to a stop. Gently, gently, they came closer and kissed. David was wide-eyed and pale. “This is a normal movie?”

“It’s smaller but it’s mainstream,” Klaus said, fishing out the movie’s case. “Big Eden, 2000. It’s a sweet movie. You missed almost all of it while the nurse was in here.”

“And the actors—they’re alright?” David said.

“Alright?”

“Nobody tried to kick their teeth in?” David sounded strained. “They’re—alive?”

Klaus blinked at him. “They’re fine. I told you it’s a different time. We’re safer, much safer. It’s alright.”

“I know,” David wiped his face. “It’s just… hard to believe, I guess. I’ll need you to keep reminding me.”

Klaus watched him for a moment, before he smiled. He pushed out of his chair and leaned over the bed to kiss him. David smiled into the kiss, burying a hand in Klaus’ curls. Klaus broke away and leaned his head on David’s chest.

“So you grew up with movies like this?” David asked. “That must have been really nice.”

“It might have been nicer if my dad let me watch them,” Klaus admitted.

David frowned, “Your father, was he…?”

_You were always the most unnatural and evil of my children._

“He was fine,” Klaus said, quickly. “Anyway, he passed away a few days ago.”

“Oh,” David blinked. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s only a few days chronologically,” Klaus shook his head. “For me it’s been almost a year.”

“Still, it’s tough to lose someone like that,” David said.

Klaus closed his eyes. Try as he might, he was never able to summon much emotion when he thought of his father. It was a numb spot, like a very old, healed wound. “I suppose so.”

*

“There you are,” Luther glared at him as Klaus padded through the academy. “Where do you keep disappearing to?”

“Why the sudden interest?” Klaus glared at him. “You never cared before.”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, we’re sort of on a time limit,” Luther said, sharply. He towered over Klaus with his shoulders raised, like he was about to tackle him. Klaus had no idea what it was that always raised Luther’s hackles when he was around, but Klaus achieved it effortlessly.

Klaus made himself relax, taking a step back, “I’ve been going to pawn shops and antique dealers. I’ve been looking for that damn book.”

“Well, you can give up on that,” Five called from the doorway. He was trailed closely by Diego.

“What?” Klaus echoed.

“There’s a few blood stains on the cover of the book,” Five said, waving the paperback. “We can run that on a database that will identify them.”

“The police database?” Luther frowned, glancing at Diego.

“Among other things,” Five said.

“What do you mean?” Luther folded his arms.

Five glanced between the group, “Well, have you heard of Operation Miasma? The government collects DNA samples from hospitals all across the country to build a secret database from. And we can break in to access it.”

“That sounds…” Luther trailed off.

“Illegal?” Diego raised his eyebrows. “Immoral? That’s not stopped the united states government before.”

Klaus stepped backwards and disappeared upstairs.

*

His suitcase was half-full of his clothes when Klaus slumped down onto the floor, all anxious energy draining out of him. He rested his forehead on the mattress and breathed shallowly. His heart thundered.

Klaus squeezed his eyes shut and summoned his brother.

“Hey,” Ben said, materialising on top of the dresser.

Klaus sighed, deeply. He rubbed his hands on his face, “Tell me what to do.”

“This is a change,” Ben said. “You don’t usually want my advice.”

Klaus parted his fingers and shot him a dark look.

“Sorry,” Ben glanced at the floor. “You know what you should do. You should tell everyone, everything, and we’ll all fix this together.”

“Alright,” Klaus dropped the hands from his face. He clasped his hands above his chest like he was about to pray and bowed his head. “Now tell me that they won’t kill Dave.”

Ben said nothing.

“Tell me—that they won’t lock me up so they can put a bullet between his eyes,” Klaus said. “Tell me they won’t kill him because he’s the odd one out in this timeline. Because he was supposed to die on that battlefield.”

Ben looked away; head bowed. “I don’t know what they’ll do.”

“Tell me they won’t do it because they have to,” Klaus said. “Tell me if, even if that’s what it takes, they’ll find another way. Please, Ben.”

Ben said nothing. He made no noise at all, not from his movements, not from the creaky dresser. Then, by his own volition, he faded out of existence again. And then, in his old, barren bedroom, his clothes strewn around and the clock ticking, Klaus was alone again.

*

It was late evening when Klaus moved the last suitcase into the motel room and returned to the car for the last piece of luggage. The light was fading, and the neon advertisements burned like colourful stars. A solid-gold pocket watch, three rings and a handful of silver cufflinks had been liberated and liquidated to pay the room’s fare for a month in advance, far more than they would need according to Five.

Klaus opened the passenger side door.

“I can probably walk,” David protested.

“But you probably shouldn’t,” Klaus unclipped him, “The nurse said you shouldn’t try to walk for at least a few more days. It was hell to get them to discharge you in the first place, I don’t want to try a second time.”

“Come on, Spaceman,” David frowned, “You were shot.”

“And you’re skinny as a trailer park dog,” Klaus lifted him out of the seat. “I think I’ll manage.”

Despite his best efforts, David huffed in pain when Klaus lifted him up. As delicately as he could, Klaus carried him up the stairs resting on each step as his wounds burned deeply. Klaus gritted his teeth and hobbled the last few steps through the doorway and set David down on the bed. He collapsed on top of him.

“That was a really nice car,” David murmured in his ear.

“It was my Dad’s,” Klaus said.

“Are you stealing from the dead?” David frowned. “You don’t want to invite even more bad luck.”

“I’m collecting inheritance,” Klaus levered himself off the bed and hobbled back down the stairs to close and lock the car. It was really nice, a deep, glossy red that stuck out like a sore thumb among the beat-up four-wheel drives and pick-up trucks.

Klaus lingered outside the motel room for a little while, smoking his way through a handful of cigarettes as the last lingers of dusk faded from the sky. He watched an old man collect ice from the ice box beside the vending machine. There was the rhythmic thumb and call of a couple using the tennis court in the next building over. Everywhere he looked—a little life.

After a long while of cold evening air, Klaus padded back into the motel room.

“Hey,” David leaned up in bed and tossed something at him.

Klaus caught it and turned it over in his hands. It was a simple wooden box, no longer than his index finger, sticky on one side with double-sided tape. “What’s this?”

“It’s a _Mezuzah_ ,” David flopped back onto the mattress. “I wasn’t allowed one in the camp or at the hospital. I’ve already done the blessing.”

Klaus lifted it to stick it on the doorframe.

“Not there,” David said. “On the right, about shoulder height.”

Klaus switched hands and attached it to the doorframe. “Is that alright?”

“It’s close enough,” David waved a hand. “Part of the deal was you explaining this whole situation to me.”

“Right, uh,” Klaus sat on the corner of the couch. “It’s going to sound pretty insane.”

“That’s a given,” David sighed. “Just start from the beginning. I’m all ears.”

“Well…” Klaus folded his hands together, “It was October 1st, 1989…”  



	3. Chapter 3

3.

A hush descended on the cavernous dining hall. Blue light cascaded around the long, empty mahogany table, glinting over the pristine bronze cutlery. Klaus sat at his place; his long legs stretched out before him. Mud caked his feet and his hands prickled, like he had scaled both palms.

He breathed out. The only sound in the building was his wheezes.

“Come out, come out,” Klaus beckoned. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, too harsh and brittle, twinging his throat.

He opened his fist, and Allison materialised opposite him. The front of her white dress was ruby-red, and her dark eyes were lit up with a cold blue flame. She was still and watchful, an obedient marionette.

Klaus summoned Diego. He took his place, opposite from him. There was a bullet wound above his left eye, black like a hole in the world. His skin gave off a greenish glow. Luther and Vanya glowed into life, like lights flickering on. Luther was missing an arm, and Vanya was horrible to look at, her head caved in and one eye forced shut. Five’s place was dimmest, his aura fading in and out of visibility.

Finally, there was a crackle of energy, and Klaus summoned Reginald. He sat at the head of the table; his hands clasped together. He was the only one without wounds, the only one who hadn’t died a violent death.

The congregation of ghosts sat together, still as a museum display. Everyone gave off their own light—except for Klaus.

*

Klaus woke up cold.

It took him a moment to work out where he was—it was dark, and his mind’s eye was still smeared with his terrible dream, that cavernous dining hall, those dead-eyed ghosts—and his heart hammered. He threw himself upwards.

David croaked unhappily.

“Shit!” Klaus rolled away from him.

“Uhh,” David groaned and wiped his face. “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” Klaus fumbled for the bedside lamp and switched it on. The sudden light was blinding, and his eyes snapped shut. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

“Nightmare?” David asked, groggily.

Klaus sighed and settled back down under the covers. David’s side was pressed against his, and the warmth was comforting. Klaus had almost never been able to continue a relationship for long—his life had always been erratic and frightening, he had never been able to free up enough room in his crazy brain to keep up with someone else. But the physicality of it, the comforting touches, the bedsharing, he always missed that part of relationships so badly when he was single.

David pulled him a little closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s alright,” Klaus muttered. “It was… my family. Except they were all ghosts, which I summoned.”

“Sounds terrible,” David said. If anyone else said it, Klaus would find it cheap, but from Dave it always felt like it was worth something.

Klaus said nothing. He rested his head on David’s chest.

The motel room was picked out in sepia tone. Their bed was the colour of clementines, the walls a rich ochre. The lampshade glowed white. Rain pattered the window and buzzed against the roof, gently and unobtrusively.

“You’re thinking loudly,” Klaus said.

David sighed, “I’m not sure you’d like what I’m thinking.”

“Oh yeah?”

David pulled his arm back so he could push himself upwards and ease into a sitting position. Klaus rolled over so he could watch him closely.

“I think you should stop using your powers,” David said, simply.

“What?” Klaus frowned, “But I just gained control over them!”

“Klaus, communing with the dead, summoning spirits…” David shook his head, “It’s not good for you, it’s not good for the world. It’s forbidden for a reason.”

“Forbidden?” Klaus narrowed his eyes.

A muscle bounced in David’s jaw, “Yeah. Forbidden for me and a bad idea for you. In Deuteronomy—”

“And what exactly would the Torah say about our relationship?” Klaus snapped.

David flinched backwards, like he had been slapped. There was a second of naked, awful pain in his eyes before he glanced away, covering his mouth with his hand.

Klaus wilted, drawing away slightly. His stomach squirmed with hot shame. He looked at his hands, “I’m sorry. That was below the belt.”

David raised an eyebrow, but part of him seemed to relax. “It’s… also irrelevant. It’s complicated, I’m not sure I’ve sorted out all of my feelings… but that doesn’t mean we should give up on doing the right thing. There’s still hope.”

Klaus frowned, “Really? I thought that when you sinned, that was it. You’re stained forever.”

“No,” David rubbed his eyes, “No, that’s not how it works. It sounds like you would make a great Catholic, though.”

Klaus rubbed his face. A yawn was building up in his chest. He settled back down.

“The idea is to keep the… indiscretions to a minimum,” David advised wearily.

“That’s what I am, eh?” Klaus grinned, “An indiscretion?”

David kissed his forehead, “Pretty much.”

Klaus snorted and pulled the covers higher around them.

*

“Klaus!” Vanya waved with her whole arm. “Klaus, come here! Come here!”

Klaus dragged the duffle bag along behind him, eyebrow raised, “Are you drunk?”

Vanya sat at the bar; her red face reflected in the glossy wood. Her usually smooth hair was pulled up into a messy bun that scattered hair across her shoulders. “The issue is I’m not drunk enough yet.”

“I’ll have a screwdriver,” Klaus said, holding up two fingers. “Two shots of absolut.”

Vanya nodded enthusiastically and slammed back her cherry woo-woo.

“You should probably slow down,” Klaus said.

“I was worried you’d disappeared or something,” Vanya said. “All your stuff’s gone from your room.”

“Yeah,” Klaus said. He kicked the duffle bag, “This is the last of it.”

Vanya poured far more than two shots of vodka into a half-glass of orange juice. She dropped half of a lime into it and pushed it towards him. Klaus fished the lime out of the drink and peeled off the grocery store sticker before dropping it back into his drink.

“I didn’t make first chair,” Vanya grumbled. “But it’s alright because apparently that evening, the world gets destroyed by a fucking mysterious cataclysm anyway.”

“Does that make it alright?” Klaus swallowed a mouthful of screwdriver that tasted sharp and sour.

“Plus my girlfriend cheated on me,” Vanya continued on if she hadn’t heard him. “With my Piano accompaniment.”

“Wasn’t that a month ago?” Klaus frowned.

“Oh, and I’m suppose to be alright with it now?” Vanya glared at him.

Klaus made a placating gesture, chugging the rest of his cocktail. When he slammed down the empty glass, Vanya was distracted by making them new, livid green cocktails.

“I’ve always been sort of jealous of you,” Vanya admitted on the third drink. “You’re so… free. You were never tied to this house, this city, even. Never tethered.”

“I’m practically unravelled,” Klaus agreed heartily.

Vanya shook her head. Her bun was slowly collapsing, and her brown hair was tangled down her back in fuzzy knots. “I feel like I never really left this place. I feel like I’m still number Seven… I don’t know who ‘Vanya’ is.”

Klaus stared at the table for a moment, before he scrubbed his face with his hands, “Shit. I need another drink.”

Vanya obliged.

Klaus was halfway through a complicated story about his ex-girlfriend when Luther threw open the doors behind the bar, a bag of unopened mail in his fist.

“Klaus!” Luther boomed. “Call Dad. Now!”

“No can do, numero uno,” Klaus drawled. “I’m way too drunk.”

Luther snatched him by the collar, yanking him out of his seat, “Then sober up!”

“Hey!” Vanya tossed a half-empty water bottle at him, which bounced uselessly off his massive shoulder. “Put him down! You can’t treat him like that!”

Luther pushed her away, “I need to talk to Dad! He needs to explain—he needs to tell me why he did that to me!”

“Ugh, Luther,” Klaus tugged at the big hand tight around his shirt collar. “I’m not your fucking… dancing bear. I’ve made a pact not to use my powers ever again.”

“You can go back to that pact _after_ you’ve called Dad,” Luther promised, giving him a little shake.

“That’s not how it works,” Klaus muttered.

“I don’t care!” Luther growled, giving him another firm shake, “Dad sent me to the fucking moon for—”

Hissing burst into Luther’s ear and his face was suddenly covered with freezing, heavy white foam. He dropped Klaus in a heap and stumbled back, wiping at his face. “What the fuck—?”

Vanya dropped the fire extinguisher back on the floor, “You’ll get more than that if you treat him like that again.”

“Go, Vanya!” Klaus grinned, picking himself back up. “My knight in shining armour.”

“You can’t just throw people around because you’re…” Vanya swayed a little. “You’re…”

“You should go puke,” Klaus advised. “You’ll feel better after.”

“I’m not gonna puke.” Vanya leaned heavily on the side of the bar.

Luther paced back to the bar, wiping a towel across his face. He’d lost his coat and his hairy, thick arms were on full display, the skin a pale, wrinkled grey. “I still want to talk to Dad,” He said, but his tone was mollified.

“Look, Luther,” Klaus rested his chin on his hand, languidly, “I don’t need a crystal ball to tell you why Dad did whatever terrible thing that he did. He did it because he’s a…” He glanced at Vanya and then continued in a hushed undertone, “C-U-N-T.”

“You seriously aren’t going to summon him?” Luther glared. “You really aren’t going to do even that?”

“I’ve _already_ summoned him and all he did was insult me and piss off,” Klaus drawled. “Besides, it’s not like you’re breaking down my door to return any of my favours.”

Luther glared, “You’re useless.”

“He’s not useless,” Vanya protested.

Luther leaned heavily on the bar, “Yes he is. We’re all useless, because none of us can stop the apocalypse.”

“Hmm,” Klaus nodded morosely. “Useless as knitted condom.”

Vanya convulsed and burst into a fit of laughter. “Useless—Useless,” she struggled to finish her sentence through her giggles, “Useless as a concrete parachute.”

Klaus began to laugh too.

*

“I got one,” Luther said, pink-faced and pouring out three brandy glasses, “as useless as… ejection seats on a plane.”

“Planes have ejection seats,” Klaus said, “you’re thinking of ‘ejection seats on a helicopter’.”

“Why wouldn’t that work?” Vanya frowned, her eyes a little unfocused.

“Because of the spinning blades,” Klaus explained.

“Couldn’t it eject sideways?” Vanya asked.

Luther stopped pouring and his face twisted in intense concentration as he considered that.

“Stop thinking so hard about the joke,” Klaus said, morosely. “How about: as useless as a ham sandwich at a Bar mitzvah.”

“Or a ham sandwich in Mecca,” Vanya added. “What’s so wrong with Pork?”

“It’s nasty,” Luther said into his brandy.

“Shut up,” Vanya said, “you’re always eating hotdogs.”

“You shut up,” Luther frowned. “Isn’t pork evil? So it’s not just useless it’s offensive to bring—”

“Guys, seriously,” Klaus put a hand over his eyes. “Do your brains ever, like, turn off?”

*

Steam filled the bathroom, leaving a warm dampness on Klaus’ exposed forearms. His curls had frizzed up and he’d tied the largest chunk of his hair up with a Hello Kitty scrunchie. He wiped his damp forehead with the back of his arm.

“I’ve missed hot water so much,” David leaned on the edge of the tub. There was hardly any water in the bathtub—to avoid wetting the bandages which covered a large portion of his chest—but the soap bubbles dotted every inch of him.

“Can I smoke?” Klaus asked. “It’s only tobacco, I promise.”

“Sure,” David said. Klaus pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it with practiced ease. His wrists were flashed of white under his black dress-shirt.

Klaus filled a Tupperware box with hot, soapy water, and dribbled it over David’s head, wetting his short hair. He filled the box again and poured it out, rivers of water dribbling over his eyebrows.

“You’re shaking,” David caught his wrist.

Klaus turned his head away, so he could breathe out the smoke towards the floor, “I’m hung-over.”

“You’re pale,” David said. “Even for you. Are your wounds alright?”

“I’m just a little dehydrated,” Klaus said. “After breakfast, I’ll be alright.”

David let go of his wrist.

“Can I ask a question?” Klaus asked.

David watched him for a moment, “Sure.”

“Are you still angry with me for taking you away from 1968?” Klaus asked, quietly.

David picked up a washcloth and scrubbed his arms, “No, I’m not. I’m sorry for getting angry. It’s just… I set aside my community to go to war, and then I lost my squadron to come to 2019. I love you, but it was scary that you were the only one I had left.”

“It’s still scary,” Klaus said.

“I know where I got shot, and I know what the military hospital is like,” David scrubbed under his chin. “You saved my life. Make no bones about it.”

Klaus hummed. He rested his shoulder against the side of the bathtub, his legs sprawled across the chill bathroom tiles. He smoked gently. “Do you think the end of times will really come knocking?”

“It’s possible,” David said. “But I doubt it. It’s probably just some sort of cataclysmic event which wipes out all life in North America.”

Klaus frowned, “You’re a real optimist, you know that?”

David grinned.

“We should dry you off,” Klaus stubbed his cigarette out on the floor.

“Right,” David agreed, pulling the plug on the bath. The ankle-height of soapy water drained away.

Klaus brace himself against the side of the tub and slipped his arms around David’s body. He heaved himself up, taking David with him. Immediately, Klaus’ body thrummed with pain, the wound under his arm burning. He heaved again, stumbling backwards.

“Klaus, are you—”

Klaus’ foot slipped on a discarded towel, and his knee went out.

The pair of them crashed to the hard bathroom floor at full force. Pain shot up Klaus’ knee like a hot poker. David cried out, a strangled yelp.

Klaus scrambled off him frantically, “Shit! Are you alright?”

David groaned.

Already, dark blood was soaking through David’s thick bandages, leaving smears on Klaus’ shaking hands. Klaus had no idea what do, pawing at the other man’s wounds, heart hammering.

“Shit, shit,” Klaus gritted his teeth, “What do I do?”

David pushed his hands away, “My… stitches… They must have torn.”

“We should get you to a hospital,” Klaus muttered, “I’ll call—”

David grabbed him by the shirt, “You can’t.”

“What?” Klaus asked, breathlessly.

“They’ll track me by my blood, remember?” David raised his eyebrows. “You said they could find me that way.”

Klaus paused, mind buzzing. He clenched his jaw.

“Look—you’ve got medical training,” David wheezed. “You can fix me up.”

Klaus shook his head, and then shook his head again, as if he were shaking something from his mind. He rubbed his eyes. Crouching beside David, he shuffled the man into his arms and half-carried him out of the bathroom. Klaus’ knee was screaming with pain, and his shoulder burned.

Finally, Klaus managed to heave David onto the bed. David gave a muffled gasp. He was bone white, muscles tense with pain.

“I have nothing to fix you with,” Klaus said, softly.

“That’s okay,” David breathed. “You can go and pick up supplies.”

Klaus straightened up, “You’re crazy. I’m not leaving you like this.”

“It’s alright,” David’s eyes drifted shut.

“It’s not alright!” Klaus snapped. “Nobody else knows you’re here! I can’t just—”

“Klaus!” David wheezed, pushing himself a little further up the bed. The skin around his eyes was sallow. “We don’t have much choice, sweetheart.”

Klaus rocked back on his heels.

“I trust you,” David said. “I always have.”

“I don’t know if you should,” Klaus grumbled, but he rolled to his feet and began to walk through the motel. He pulled a bag from the draw and fetched his wallet. He pulled on his boots and tied them quickly. He threw on his jacket and nabbed the keys from the side.

Just as Klaus opened the front door, David called, “Wait, Kay…”

Klaus paused and glanced back at him.

“You must not fear,” David said, seriously. “Fear is the mind-killer.”

Klaus risked a smile and finished the quote, “ _Fear is the little-death which brings total obliteration_.”

He closed the door behind him.

*

Gauze, antiseptic ointment and dressing tape were on aisle three, besides the disposable razors and the hand-cream. The fabric scissors, along with the needles and thread, were above the allergy medication and the blister plasters. Klaus had to show the clerk his ID to buy the painkillers. He had just enough cash on him to buy everything, along with a bottle of whiskey and a bag of Haribos.

Klaus exited the pharmacy and stepped into the black evening. Cold breeze washed over him, carrying the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

“Diego,” Klaus greeted, with a sinking feeling.

Diego leaned on Klaus’ car, flipping a knife around, languidly.

“How did you know I was here?” Klaus asked.

“It’s Dad’s car,” Diego said, the blade flashing between his fingers. “It’s got a tracker in it.”

“I called dibs,” Klaus said. He waited for Diego to step out of the way. When it was clear he wasn’t going to, Klaus scowled at him. “What, do you want a lift somewhere?”

“I was actually going to offer you one,” Diego said. “There’s a family meeting back at Dad’s place.”

“I’m not interested,” Klaus said, but when he tried to move past Diego, his brother stepped to intercept him.

“It’s mandatory,” Diego said.

“I’m still not interested,” Klaus scowled at him. “Nothing good ever comes of family bonding time.”

“Hey,” Diego caught his elbow. His expression was pleading. “Look. Can you just play along? Five will have my ass if I don’t bring you. I promise the meeting will be quick.”

“Sorry,” Klaus said. “I’ve got other plans.”

“Fine.” Diego released him.

Klaus unlocked the car and pulled the driver’s side door open.

“I guess we’ll just have to report this car stolen, then,” Diego said.

Klaus shot him an unreadable look.

“Either you come now,” Diego said. “Or you come when we bail you out of prison.”

Klaus went still. He rested his hand on the side of the car door, thinking hard. He slammed the door shut again.

*

“This better be quick,” Klaus growled as he tailed Diego into the academy building.

“Klaus!” Five smiled coldly at him. “How nice of you to join us.”

Klaus glanced around the gathered siblings. Vanya and Allison were conspicuously absent. He dragged his eyes around to his shortest brother. “What is this? Has your blood-match idea worked?”

“It has, actually,” Five folded his arms. His dark eyebrows raised. “It gave me… a pretty good lead.”

“You got a match?” Klaus asked. He glanced at Luther, who was prowling around like a territorial tomcat. “Anyone I’d know?”

“I had a definitive match,” Five said. “For you.”

“Me?” Klaus frowned. He shook his head. “It must have been a cross-contamination.”

“Actually, Diego said you never held the book at all,” Five said.

Klaus suppressed a grimace. He’d been worried that associating with the book might give someone the idea to compare his handwriting to the message. “Well, you said that you found it in the ruins of the academy, right? It must be a coincidence. I mean… I live here.”

“Not lately, you don’t,” Diego muttered. Klaus ignored him.

“True enough,” Five said. “But then I intercepted some of the Commission’s agents. And I found this.” He passed Klaus a slip of paper.

Reluctantly, Klaus unfurled the slip. In block, black ink, it read:

**DIRECTIVE: PROTECT FOUR “KLAUS” HARGREEVES.**

“And logically…” Five tilted a shoulder in a half-shrug, “…we should do the opposite of whatever it asks us to do. In order to ensure the apocalypse doesn’t actually happen.”

Klaus folded the paper, eyeing Luther and Diego, who circled him like hungry animals. A cold feeling spread in his stomach. “So this is a trap.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Five said, in the same even-toned drawl he always took on, “Not if you come willingly. I mean, all we have to do is keep you locked up, just for a few days, until we can—”

Klaus punched him.

Five reeled back, and Klaus managed to take two steps towards the door before he felt a fist close around his curls.

Luther yanked him back by the hair and Klaus was engulfed in a crushing embrace. His face was crushed against rough wool and his ribs were constricted like a vice. He couldn’t move his chest, he couldn’t breathe. Klaus’ fingers scrambled uselessly against Luther’s iron grip. His head span. Blood roared in his ears. His vision blackened.

Klaus passed out. His last sensation before the faded out completely was Luther throwing him over his shoulder.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.” Frank Herbert, _Dune_


End file.
